A Cold Case
by vandevere
Summary: A body found in Chicago complicates things for Jack McCoy
1. Chapter 1

_Chicago, 1943_

 _It's late at night, and Little Jack, all of three years of age, is awakened by a sound._

 _He sits up in his bed. He knows his Mom is out tonight. Aunt Rose is having her baby now, and that's where Mom is, helping her, so Mom said._

 _And there that sound is again…_

 _Little Jack gets out of bed, and follows that sound, all the way down to the basement._

 _It's scary as he steps hesitantly down the stairs to the basement. It sounds sort of like an animal; huffs, groans, and snarls._

 _And there…_

 _He sees a feral face, like a lion, or bear…_

…

 _Manhattan, 1996_

Jack McCoy jerked awake, heart pounding in his ribcage.

 _Shit!_

He threw the sheets back as he rolled out of bed.

That godawful nightmare again…

A few hours later, in his office at 1 Hogan Place, and the feeling of dislocation hadn't left him yet.

This, at least in part, was due to the fact that he was not yet quite used to his new Assistant, Jamie Ross.

Claire Kincaid had been his Assistant.

She had also been much more than that...

Claire was dead now, killed by a drunk driver. And Jack had spent these last few months in something that felt very much like free-fall.

But her death had nothing to do with the nightmare he'd had last night.

McCoy had been having that nightmare for about as long as he could remember.

"You okay, Jack?" Jamie Ross asked.

"Yeah…" McCoy roused himself. Nightmares and mourning notwithstanding, they had work to do.

"Fraser?" he asked.

"Think he's going to plead out," Jamie assured him. "Also, the Terry Marks case is heating up. Briscoe and Curtis may have found something…"

"Don't let them go in half-cocked," McCoy warned her. "I'm not in the mood to get perfectly good evidence tossed out because the detectives didn't get their ducks in a row before arresting the perp."

…..

"I'll pass the warning along," Jamie grinned. Before coming to the DA's Office, she had been a Defense Attorney, partnered with her ex-husband Neil Gorton.

She knew all about getting incriminating evidence tossed out.

That was when the phone rang.

"McCoy," Jack picked it up, smiling back at Jamie.

"Joe!" McCoy's smile grew broader, his dark eyes twinkling, he looked at Jamie, mouthed the words, _my brother._ "What occasion brings you to call me?"

Whatever _Joe_ had to say drew those distinctive heavy black eyebrows down into a worried frown.

"How's Mom taking this? Yes…yes…I know. She's all right? Okay. The ME's on the case? Yes... I'll be down as soon as I can. See you there."

McCoy hung up, looking perplexed. He stood.

"I need to talk to Adam," he said.

"What's wrong?" Jamie stood too, alarm tingling down her spine as she followed her boss to _his_ boss' office.

Fortunately, Adam Schiff was not engaged at the moment…

…..

"Come in, Jack," there was only one person of Adam Schiff's acquaintance who had such a peremptory style of knocking on a door.

Jack McCoy walked in, followed by Jamie Ross. Adam only had eyes for Jack right now. The District DA had learned, long ago, how to read the clues and tics in his colleague's body and facial language.

His Executive Assistant DA was…alarmed.

"Sit," Adam commanded. "And tell me what's wrong."

"Don't know where to start," McCoy sat, tried to settle himself.

"Don't know about you," Schiff spoke dryly. "But I generally find it easiest to start at the beginning."

That got the small smile he was looking for.

"You know my Mom," McCoy scratched the side of his head. "She's moving to a retirement community."

"So she's packing up the old homestead," Schiff nodded knowingly.

'Yeah…Pat and Joe helped her prepare the house for sale. They had to redo the basement. Last time the basement was worked on was when I was little, around three, I think."

"So it's time for a basement redo. What happened?"

"They dug up the basement," McCoy sighed and bowed his head. Then he looked up again.

"They found a body."


	2. Chapter 2

_O'Hare International Airport, Chicago_

Duffle-bag slung over a shoulder, Jack McCoy walked through the airport, keeping eyes peeled for either of his brothers.

He found Pat, the youngest of the McCoy brothers.

Seen together, strangers generally found it hard to believe Jack and Pat were brothers.

Pat McCoy was the one who looked the most like John Senior; blondish and blue-eyed, with typically Irish features. Standing in at six foot four, big and burly, built like a stevedore, people were often surprised to see he was a priest.

"Jack!" Pat strode up, taking Jack's duffle-bag up easily in his huge hands...

"You didn't waste any time getting here," he added.

"I took the Red-eye," McCoy explained. "How's Mom?"

"Rattled…but she's fine. What do you want to do, Jack?"

"I think I should see the body first, then where you and Joe found it. Give your statements to the police yet?"

"Yeah…" Pat shifted McCoy's duffle to the other shoulder.

"I'll want to look at those too." McCoy sighed.

…..

Chief ME Jonas Brandt stood next to the visitor as they both stared down at the skeletal remains on the table. There was still a small amount of cement embedded in parts of the bone, what the experts hadn't been able to chip off without destroying bone, i.e. evidence.

The visitor, an ADA from Manhattan, stared down at the remains impassively.

"Were you able to find the cause of death?" McCoy asked.

"Yes," Brandt pointed to the skull. "The victim was male, and he was bludgeoned to death. You can see where the skull was caved in. The spinal cord was severed too. This was a brutal attack. Agonizing."

"The victim suffered?"

"Utter and complete agony, I'm sad to say." Brandt nodded. "The victim's hands were crushed too."

McCoy winced.

"He tried to defend himself…" he muttered. He sighed.

"Anything else?"

"Yes," Brandt drew the sheet back over the remains. "He was African-American."

McCoy looked down at the now sheet-draped form.

"The police are going to have a tough time identifying him."

"I was able to retrieve from DNA, so we're looking through all Missing Person Reports from the late Thirties up to around Nineteen forty-three; see if we can locate any relatives. Nineteen forty-three _is_ the last time the basement in the McCoy Residence was worked on, wasn't it?"

"Yeah…" McCoy nodded. "That's where I'm going now. Tell me if you find anyone who can identify the victim."

"I will. One question before you go. How old were you when the basement was worked on that last time?"

McCoy paused in the act of turning away.

"Think I was around three," he said. "It's one of my earliest memories, watching my father, and Uncle Jerry pour the cement."

"Uncle Jerry?"

"Jerry Cochrane," McCoy explained. "He was a cop, like my old man."

…..

 _The old family homestead…_

Jack McCoy sighed as he paid the cabbie and got out. Approaching the old house brought with it an attendant host of memories.

Pleasant and unpleasant alike, they swirled up in his mind.

 _His Father holding him as he threw darts until he got too sleepy, and drowsily aware of strong arms carrying him up to bed, tucking him in for the night…Older, hiding with his Mom, in the brand-new basement, door locked to protect them both from his Old Man's rage…The pride in John Senior as Jack brought his Law Diploma from NYU to him…The crushing sensation when Jack realized his father was a bigot, and a misogynist…_

It was jarring to see the old family home surrounded by Police Tape.

The Middle brother, Joe, wearing his police uniform, was waiting for him at the front door.

"Joe…"

"Jack. Glad you could make it."

Joe McCoy was a little taller than Jack, and a little bulkier; but in them, the family resemblance was clearer.

"Ready to take a look?"

McCoy nodded.

"Yeah…Let's get this done."

The two men walked briskly down to the basement. Other detectives were down in the basement too, poring over everything; and McCoy knew what they were doing.

 _Looking at everything. No matter how small. Sometimes, it's the tiniest trace evidence that brings the case home…_

"We found the body at the back part of the basement," Joe led him over, stepping around detectives as they dusted and polished for prints.

McCoy stood there, looking down at the torn-up cement floor. And then…

He couldn't breathe, the walls and ceiling closing in.

"Jack?" he barely heard his brother. He had to get out…out of this place…

Then, he was outside, in the Sun, the blue sky, and the fresh air.

"Jack!" Joe's hand on his shoulder.

"I'm okay…" hands on knees, breathing deeply, swallowing the bile back.

The feeling of panic…of… _terror_ …slowly faded away, leaving Jack McCoy shaking.

"I'm calling a doctor!"

"No!" McCoy grabbed Joe's hand. "I'll be fine."

…..

 _One Hogan Place, Manhattan_

The phone rang, and Adam Schiff picked it up.

"Adam Schiff speaking."

"Adam…"

"Jack, my boy! How are things?"

He heard McCoy's sigh over the line, heard the stress in his voice.

"Things are…complicated…Adam. An African American man was apparently killed in the house I grew up in. I'm…I…"

"I'm coming down Jack."

"Adam…you don't need to…"

But Adam Schiff knew otherwise. He _did_ need to come to Jack's aid.

He'd never heard _that_ tone in Jack's voice before.

Naked fear.

"I'm coming down," Adam spoke firmly, implacably. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He heard McCoy's rueful chuckle.

"Right, Boss," the other man said. "See you then."

He hung up, and Schiff put his phone down too. He sat for a moment. Then, he picked up his phone again, dialed a number.

"Dr. Emil Skoda," the man, himself, picked up the line. Schiff sighed.

 _Jack's going to be furious…_

The fear Schiff had heard in McCoy's voice, though, the fact of an apparent murder done in the McCoy household back in the early forties…

No choice...

"Emil…" Schiff sighed. "I need your help…"


	3. Chapter 3

_Chicago_

Adam Schiff and Emil Skoda had been met at the airport by Joe McCoy, in his Squad Car; and that piqued Schiff's curiosity.

"An official police escort?" he asked. "Might that not be construed as an abuse of power, or authority?"

"It's become an Official Case," Joe McCoy sighed as he sat at the wheel. "The remains have been identified as Henry Williams, who disappeared in Nineteen Forty-three, his family have come forward to claim him, and see if charges can be brought. Thing is, that means we have to question Mom…and Jack. Pat and I weren't even born then."

"They _can't_ be considering charges against Jack," Schiff protested. "He was only three at the time."

"The DA's Office knows that," Joe's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "But they think he might know something anyway."

Then, they were there, at the DA's Office.

"Adam!" Dave Esposito, came forward, took Schiff's hand. "Long time no see."

"Good to see you too, Dave," Schiff spoke warmly. "But, I hear you've got my Executive Assistant DA in a bit of a bind here."

"I know," Esposito sighed. "We questioned Mary McCoy, and she doesn't know anything. Based on statements by her, and Jack McCoy, we think it's likely she was out at the time. Jack indicated that she might have been helping her sister, Rose, deliver her baby. But he's not sure…"

Mary McCoy and Jack were both there, sitting on the sofa, and Schiff marked the protective arm McCoy had placed around his Mother's shoulders.

 _Woe betide anyone who threatens her…_

"Are you placing them in custody?" Schiff asked.

"No, Adam. Neither are viable suspects. But I am not entirely satisfied with what Jack McCoy has told us thus far."

"Think I'm lying?" McCoy scowled.

"Not deliberately, not consciously, no," Esposito walked back to his desk; picked up an envelope, walked back to McCoy.

"Judge Straker has issued a Subpoena."

"For… _what?"_ McCoy stood.

"Your memories, Mr. McCoy. One of the detectives made note of the fact that you fled the basement. In his Deposition, he stated that you-and I quote- _went as white as a sheet, then fled the premises._ Care to explain that?"

McCoy stood there.

"I can't, he finally said. "It was…I just had to get out of there. I was suffocating."

"Dr. Mendez thinks you might have seen something."

" _Carl_ Mendez?" Emil Skoda finally spoke up.

"Yes," Esposito nodded. "He wants to regress you, Jack."

"No!" Jack flinched. "I'm not a box for people to open!"

"We believe Jerry Cochrane may have been responsible for the killing," Esposito was implacable. "Or even your father."

"My… _father_?" McCoy stood there, eyes wide.

"No!" he shook his head. "My Old Man was many things. But he wasn't a murderer. And neither is Uncle Jerry!"

"Then please explain how Henry Williams' body wound up buried in cement, in the basement of the McCoy Family House," Esposito demanded. "If necessary, we will go to court over this."

"Then, you go to court!" McCoy snarled. "I'm out of here!"

Schiff followed him as quickly as he could.

McCoy, though, was walking at a very stiff pace.

"Jack! Wait up!"

…..

Jack McCoy heard his friend's voice, stopped just in front of the building that housed the DA's Office.

There was a nice bench by a bus stop, so McCoy walked over there.

"Sorry, Adam," he sighed. "I won't let them muck about in my head."

"You know…"Adam Schiff sighed as he took a seat next to McCoy. "What he's asking for isn't unreasonable. You've demanded the very same thing on quite a few occasions, as I recall."

"It's different!" McCoy snapped.

"Of course it's different," Schiff nodded sagely. "It's _your_ head they want to open up now. But, your pride and privacy notwithstanding, that is the _only_ difference. And what about what that detective apparently said? You had a panic attack in your family's basement? You were suffocating? You couldn't breathe?"

McCoy let out a breath.

"Yeah…" he sighed. "The walls just started closing in. I can't explain it. That's never happened to me before."

"Then, let's find out, Jack!" he felt Schiff's hand on his shoulder. "Maybe something _did_ happen. If nothing else, you owe it to yourself to find out what."

"I don't want to…"

The very idea of someone prying through his memories filled Jack McCoy with loathing, made his skin crawl…

"Jack…"

"No!" McCoy stood. "If you need me for anything, Mom and I are staying at Joe's…"

That night, bedded down on the large sofa in the Joe's Family Room…

 _Little Jack descends cautiously down the stairs to the basement. The sounds he hears down there are frightening, but he can't stop. Quietly, he moves on. There are grunts and roars, and…weeping._

 _A Grownup is weeping, begging for mercy._

 _Little Jack moves forward. He is confronted by the face of a ravening beast, all wild raging eyes, and feral snarl…_

Jack McCoy jolted awake, a cry of terror escaping his lips; heart hammering in his chest.

"Jack…"

Mary was there, silver hair shining in the moon-and-streetlights coming through the windows.

He felt her take him into her arms, and hold him as she had back then, when he was a little boy awakening from a nightmare; hold him tightly, murmuring wordless reassurances, rocking him gently, hand gently caressing his back…

When his heart had slowed, when he could breathe normally again, Mary kissed him on the forehead.

"Maybe you should let them regress you," she spoke softly.

"Mom…I…"

"You need to get this out," she said. "Whatever this is."

He didn't want to. The very idea repulsed him.

But…

 _What if I did see something?_


	4. Chapter 4

Adam Schiff watched as Dave Esposito talked to the Williams Family. Coretta Williams, the family matriarch, was a stern and forbidding woman of seventy-three years of age.

 _Henry Williams' widow…_

Henry Williams had been an enlisted man, just days away from being shipped out to fight in WWII.

"When he disappeared, the police just fobbed it off," she spoke gravely. "I was pregnant with my second boy, and the detective told me, _your husband turned coward, and went AWOL…"_

Schiff shook his head. The racism had been rampant, and quite open back then.

 _Now, it's undercover, and every bit as rampant…_

However much Schiff wanted to speak up, he was only allowed to be here as a courtesy. He and Esposito had been friends back in the day; back in Law School.

This was Esposito's case, a murder back in the _Forties_ ; and Jack McCoy-Schiff's EADA-somehow lay at the heart of it.

McCoy, and his brothers, had all been fingerprinted, as had Mary McCoy, mother to the three men.

Since John James McCoy Senior and Jerry Cochrane had both been cops, their fingerprints had also been on file.

Henry Williams, in the Armed Forces, also had been fingerprinted.

No great surprise to see _all_ of the McCoy Family fingerprints literally all over the basement.

Jack, in particular, remembered practicing at Darts, in the back part of the basement.

 _A horrific injustice on several different fronts,_ Schiff sighed. _A man murdered, his family left bereft. Wrongly accused of going AWOL, his family was even denied the benefits they should have gotten following his death…_

Coretta Williams lifted her head, steely gaze fixed on Esposito.

"What can you do to bring justice for my Henry?"

"We've arrested Jerry Cochrane, charged him with Murder One, with the Death Penalty attached. We've also issued writs to Washington, to overturn the AWOL charge against your late husband. It may be very late, but you will receive the benefits you are entitled to."

"Thank you," Coretta's eyes misted up, her oldest son, Henry Jr., holding her hand.

There was a polite rap on the office door.

"Come in," David Esposito said. Jack McCoy walked in, flanked by Carl Mendez and Emil Skoda.

McCoy flinched when he saw Coretta Williams; and Schiff wished he could help the younger man through this.

Jamming hands into the pockets of his shabby green jacket, McCoy lowered his gaze.

"I've…reconsidered your request," he spoke softly.

"You'll let us regress you?" Esposito stood now.

McCoy's shoulders hunched reflexively.

"Just one thing…" McCoy lifted his head. "I'm sure he's a good man, but I don't know Dr. Mendez."

"How fortuitous it is that I'm here, then," Dr. Emil Skoda said.

"Yeah…I guess…" Jack McCoy didn't seem all that enthused.

"Does anyone mind if Dr. Skoda does the Regression instead of me?" Carl Mendez asked. "He's every bit as qualified as I am, and Mr. McCoy would very likely be less resistant if it were Emil…"

"Its fine," Esposito nodded. "This needs to be done as soon as possible; like after Lunch?"

McCoy flinched, and, to Schiff, it briefly looked like he might flee. Then. A deep sigh shook his body.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll skip Lunch until after," McCoy hugged himself as he spoke. "I get the feeling I don't want to do this on a full stomach."

…..

"Where is he?" Adam Schiff walked into the Examination Room Skoda had insisted on using. Skoda-accompanied by two Attorneys, the Chicago EADA, and Jerry Cochrane's Defense Attorney-was busy rewinding the Audio-tape of the proceeding. Both comfortable-looking chairs were empty.

"Jack's in the Men's' Room off to the right," Skoda nodded. "Glad you're here, Adam. He might need you right now."

Adam ignored the two attorneys, and walked into the small lavatory. He heard the sound of retching from the small enclosed toilet area; then, the sound of a toilet flushing.

The small door opened and Jack McCoy came out, looking ashy pale.

"Adam…" In spite of the pasty pallor to his features, McCoy looked relieved, genuinely glad to see Adam Schiff.

"We'll talk when you're ready," Schiff placed himself by the wall. "Put yourself together first."

McCoy nodded, leaned over the bathroom sink to rinse his mouth.

"Did you see Mackie and Carson?" McCoy asked. "Carson's Uncle Jerry's Attorney."

"Yes," Schiff spoke warily, noting the deep grief in his EADA's eyes. "Why?"

"I need to testify at Uncle Jerry's trial," McCoy rubbed his face, pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"It's that bad, Jack?"

"Yeah…" there were actual tears glittering in Jack McCoy's eyes. "It's that bad."


	5. Chapter 5

Adam Schiff found a seat at the back of the packed court room. This trial was one of the hottest news items in Chicago's history.

 _A Black man murdered more than fifty years ago, his body found in the basement of one of Chicago's more legendary police officers…_

Thanks to his EADA, Schiff had a more nuanced portrait of John James McCoy Senior.

McCoy Senior had been rather bad, as fathers went. Ambitious for his oldest son's career, he had pushed Jack Junior, pushed him _hard_ to be successful in all things.

He'd been abusive too, heavy handed in ruling his family.

Joe, and Pat McCoy, both seemed to have lives that were fulfilling on both career and personal fronts. But Jack…

Jack McCoy was perhaps the best lawyer Schiff had ever seen.

But…

The man was a borderline alcoholic, and his personal life was virtually nonexistent…

Rage, pure unbridled rage lay deep inside Jack McCoy, and Schiff knew why…

John Senior had made him that way.

Now, Jack McCoy was to testify at the trial of one of his father's best friends…

Jerry Cochrane was in excellent health for a man in his mid-seventies. Unlike Jack's father, he had never smoked a cigarette in his life…

 _Now, he's on trial for the murder of Henry Williams, and facing the Death penalty…_

Andrew Carson stood.

"I call John James McCoy to the Witness Stand…"

That rocked Adam Schiff.

 _Jack's a witness for the Defense?_

Jack McCoy, walking up to the stand, didn't look well at all. His eyes were haunted as he took the Oath, and Schiff felt alarm course up his spine.

McCoy had refused to tell him what memories he had unearthed during the regression. Judging by what Schiff saw in McCoy's eyes, though…

 _Must have been bad…_

…..

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth?"

Jack McCoy's heart was hammering in his chest. Mouth dry, he nodded.

"Yes…" he couldn't help the tremor in his voice. "I do."

He took his seat, waited for Andrew Carson to start. Steven Mackie, Chicago's EADA, sitting quietly at his post, had also been present at the Regression.

"Mr. McCoy," Carson stood. "You were regressed the other day, in order to retrieve your memories of that event. Where you there when it happened?"

His head was pounding.

"Yes…" he whispered. "I was there."

"Louder, please, Mr. McCoy. _Were_ you there?"

"Yes," McCoy forced himself to speak more loudly. It was the hardest thing he had ever done.

"I was there."

"Then, please…In your own words, tell us what happened?"

McCoy closed his eyes and bowed his head, arms wrapped around himself tightly; the memories of over fifty years ago as clear as if they had only happened yesterday…

 _A thudding sound awakens Little Jack, and he sits up._

 _He knows his Mother is out tonight. She's helping Aunt Rose have her baby. But she said she'd be back to cook Breakfast._

 _He hears that thudding sound again…_

 _Downstairs?_

 _Little Jack scrambles out of bed, leaves his bedroom. He checks his parent's bedroom to see if his father is there, but the bed is empty; and the thudding continues, other…more alarming sounds mixed in._

 _So, Little Jack creeps down the stairs. The kitchen and the living room are pristine and undisturbed._

 _Those sounds are coming from the basement. Little Jack's never been more scared than he is right now._

 _But Daddy isn't here, so it's up to Little Jack to be the Man of the House._

 _He creeps down to the basement, scarcely even daring to breathe, and now he hears grunts of rage, exertion, and this odd, meaty sound; sort of like fights in the rare movies he's been allowed to see._

 _There's also the sound of someone weeping…A…_ _ **grownup…**_ _weeping…_

 _"_ _Please, Mister! I just got lost. Let me go… please, and I'll_ _ **never**_ _come this way for as long as I live!"_

 _Little Jack follows those sounds all the way to the back of the basement, and there…_

 _Three men, two of whom he knows, and the third man he's never even seen before._

 _Uncle Charlie is there, arms hanging by his sides, staring in slack-jawed amazement at the other man Jack knows…_

 _John Senior, Jack's father, facing away from Little Jack, tire iron in hand, a black man kneeling on the cellar floor, in front, hands raised in supplication, begging, pleading, for his life._

 _"_ _I've got a little boy!" the man grovels in front of John Senior. "Please, let me go home to my wife and boy!"_

 _John Senior says nothing, but brings that tire iron down upon the black man's head; and there's this horrid cracking sound, like snapping twigs, and the black man collapses, body twitching, arms and legs in full spasm; and Jack's father hits him again and again, snarling words and epithets that would have gotten Little Jack's mouth washed out with soap…_

 _Uncle Charlie just stands there, rooted to the ground in horror at what he's seeing._

 _Then, he sees Little Jack, standing behind Daddy, and his eyes widen; and John Senior whirls around, tire iron raised._

 _The face Little Jack sees is the face of a madmen, lips peeled back in a feral snarl, eyes wild, and pupils dilated with rage._

 ** _"_** ** _Go!"_** _he screams, and Little Jack does…_

 _He runs up the basement stairs, up the stairs to the second floor, and into his bedroom, where he hides under the blankets and sheets; shivering in naked terror…_

Still hugging himself tightly, his recital done, Jack McCoy looked up. Blinking tears from his eyes, he drew in a deep, trembling breath.

"Just to be clear," Andrew Carson asked. "What, exactly, was Jerry Cochrane's role in Henry William's death?"

"He didn't hit him, if that's what you're asking," McCoy wanted to close his eyes, but that would only have made the horror of it all clearer.

"I don't think he was expecting…what happened." McCoy sighed, force the trembling from his limbs. "I… _saw_ Henry Williams die, and it was all my old man. _He_ was the one who hit Henry Williams. Repeatedly. With a tire iron."

"What happened next?" Carson asked. "When you woke up?"

"When I woke up next morning?" McCoy bowed his head. "Mom was back, cooking breakfast. Blueberry pancake to celebrate the birth of Aunt Rose's first son…"

He sighed as he closed his eyes.

"And Dad and Uncle Jerry were busy in the back yard…" bitterness filled McCoy's soul as he said this. "Mixing the cement to redo the basement."

"And you, Mr. McCoy?"

"I thought it was a nightmare," McCoy shrugged helplessly. "I didn't know what murder looked like. Not then, at least…"

"Thank you…" Carson sat down; and the Judge looked to Steven Mackie.

"Does the Prosecution have any questions for this witness?" Judge Shapiro asked.

"No, your Honor," Mackie stood.

"We thank you for your testimony, Mr. McCoy," the Judge said as she released him.

"Thank you, your Honor," McCoy nodded shakily as he stood. His mother sat at the back, horror in her eyes…

 _Horror at having married a murdered, having slept with him, cooked and cleaned for him, bore three sons for him…_

He walked up to her, needing nothing now as much as a Mother's Love.

"Dear boy," Mary's arms around him, hugging him tight. "Dear child of mine…"


	6. Chapter 6

_I hope Jack finds a way to heal from this…_

Adam Schiff watched, sadness deep in his bones as Jerry Cochrane took the Plea Deal offered by Steven Mackie.

 _Accessory After the Fact…_

Schiff sighed.

Due to Cochrane's age, and the fact that he hadn't actively participated in the murder of Henry Williams, he wouldn't face any prison time.

 _He'll lose his pension from the Chicago PD_

As it turned out, it had been John James _Senior_ -dead these past ten years-who had done all the killing.

 _He's beyond any kind of temporal justice..._

So, it had been left to others to pay the price. And not just Jerry Cochrane.

Schiff sighed again.

 _Jack McCoy too..._

Left to bear an unimaginable burden of guilt, for witnessing something he could not have possibly understood at the time.

But Adam Schiff knew Jack McCoy; knew his Executive Assistant DA would carry that weight for as long as he lived.

 _I'd better see how he is,_ Schiff decided.

…..

Standing over his father's grave, the day-lowering gray skies, and a light drizzling rain-a perfect fit for Jack McCoy's mood.

 _My Father…_

 _As much of a murderer as any felon I've ever prosecuted…_

He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and tried to pray. But he didn't have much faith in God either.

"There you are!"

Adam Schiff's voice brought him back.

"Standing in the rain, like a loon?" Adam gently chided him, and McCoy couldn't help smiling, even though he felt his heart twist just a little.

"My old man…" he muttered softly, his throat tightening.

He bowed his head as he continued to speak.

"I knew he was a racist, a bigot, and a misogynist…"

"My boy…" he felt Adam's hand on his shoulder.

 _If only I had been born_ _ **Adam's**_ _son…_

McCoy drew a deep breath, let the hurtful words out in a rush.

"He's a… _murderer_ …Adam! He killed a man whose only crime was being black in a white neighborhood! And, worst of all…I can't bring myself to hate him, I can't…"

McCoy's voice broke. He couldn't finish.

He felt Adam's hand on his shoulder, a steadying, comforting weight.

"Fathers and sons…" the older man said. "It's always a…fraught experience. But, Jack…he is not _you_. You are not your father. Don't saddle yourself with his guilt."

"But I was there, Adam! I _saw_ it!"

"At age three, you were barely out of diapers. There's no way you could have understood what you witnessed. Let it go, Jack. It's not your burden to bear."

McCoy stood there, letting Adam's voice and words comfort him. He heard Adam's sigh.

"Now, Jack," his boss spoke gently. "I don't know about you, my boy, but I don't like getting wet; and I noticed this nice little pub on my way here."

"Casey's Irish Pub," McCoy smiled.

"The very same," Adam smiled too. "Let's get out of this rain, have some scotch to warm ourselves up…"

"Yeah…" McCoy turned away from his father's gravestone.

The hurt of what he had learned these last few days would never really go away, but, with those he loved, he would be able to survive this.

Fin


End file.
